


Faca Amolada

by madame_meretrix (laisserais)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/madame_meretrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They tried to stop the apocalypse. They failed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faca Amolada

**Author's Note:**

> Betas: yourlibrarian and apreludetoanend, with significant fiddling, so any remaining mistakes are mine

* * *

  
**Faca Amolada**   


"The bougainvillea's strangling itself out there," Jeff said as he came in through the back door. He stopped at the sink to wash his hands and Jensen didn't say anything in reply, just took another sip of coffee, listening to the creak of Jeff's boots against the floorboards.

Jeff threw the towel back at the counter and turned around. "Reckon I'd take a stab at trimming it back before the heat of the morning."

"Reckon so," Jensen said, and he leaned back, appraising Jeff. He had one arm propped on the counter, the other rubbing at his chin. His boots, matching the wormholed wooden planks of the floor, were silent as he stood. Through the open screen door Jensen heard a wild turkey let out a machine-gun hoot and then all was still again, like the world outside was holding its breath, waiting on Jeff.

Jensen kept on staring.

Beneath Jeff's boots stood the floor that they'd installed together, years ago, tilting slightly towards the back door with its screen that never kept anything out. Jensen pondered on the difference between this Jeff and the Jeff that used to be; the one from before this kitchen had a floor, before bougainvillea ran wild and coffee percolated in the early morning hours. No, this Jeff was another animal, he was sure. A stranger, Jensen thought, a stranger in a land made strange by the acts of his own two hands.

But the fault for all of it lay at Jensen's feet, and it was time. Today was the day Jensen knew had been coming, had figured on for a while now. Jeff couldn't leave, but Jensen could, and maybe Jeff would be safer if he did.

Watching Jeff watch him back, Jensen felt like he was on display. Exotic as a tiger and twice as dangerous. As precious as something rare, as unusual as this house was. People drove up to the house from time to time, drove up the dusty lane, all the way through the twists and turns, past the lemon groves and the olive trees. They'd pay no mind to the jerseys staring as they came, kicking up gravel in their out-of-town cars to park in front, stop just where the dust gave way to lush green. Jensen never knew how they knew about the place, and he never asked Jeff.

Once he'd made sure they were only tourists, Jensen would stroll out onto the porch, stand in the shade of that monster of a bougainvillea bush, lean down easy and spit, stare right back at the strangers who had no right to be there. Every one of them was a threat, but Jeff always said to let them go. He always said that when the time came, Jensen would know, and that had been true up to now, but every time he did nothing, Jensen felt an itch creep down his back. Felt he was giving a little of himself away to the eyes of strangers who _saw_ him.

But he had faith in Jeff, who had faith in something bigger than Jensen could fathom, so he'd go back inside, close the curtains a little tighter and return to whatever the task at hand was.

The task this morning was to remain invisible.

Jeff poured out a cup of coffee. Jensen watched the creases at the back of his neck disappear and reappear under his shirt collar as he stretched and bent, reached and straightened up again. He didn't say a word when Jeff walked past him and into the cool recess of the rest of the house. Jensen didn't say a word, but he did wonder if maybe he'd outstayed his welcome. Maybe it was time for him to go.

 

"June Oh Five," Jeff said, nodding his head like the words had significance beyond the simple signs they were, standing in place of a secret, or a time, or a man. Jensen nodded too. Underneath the table, a hobnailed boot nudged his unshod foot and Jensen shifted on the bench, leaning just that much closer into Jeff, that much further in his shadow.

The sheriff nodded, drew a swift puff of his cigar and sighed. "Yessir. June Oh Five. That was the last time anyone seen him."

Jeff's boot came down hard, keeping Jensen's foot in place and Jensen felt safe. As safe as anyone could be in a place that grew shadows taller than men. Shadows no one could burden alone, no matter what they said. "Been a long time," Jeff said.

"Yes, it has. Long time indeed," the sheriff said, putting the stress on _indeed_ like he knew everything that Jeff wasn't saying.

"Well, can't figure time now like we did, then." It all looked to Jensen like a chess game, but he couldn't suss out who was winning. The sheriff sighed again, nodding like Jeff was a preacher telling the gospel's own truth, but his eyes were dead under the bill of his cap and Jensen felt an urge to turn the game around so that he could see the pieces.

"Can't count the days anymore," he said, and four eyes dragged over him. A shadow passed between them and the sun, a low, lazy cloud that filtered all the light out of the room but left the heat behind. Jensen cleared his throat. "Time is different now, is all."

"That's the truth," the sheriff said, standing up from the table to give Jeff's hand a shake. Jensen watched a sliver of sunlight bounce off the gun at his belt and felt that he'd upturned the game board, little men carved out of unspoken words lying invisible on the floor. "Well, all the loss we've seen around these parts, ain't no one gonna be looking for one out-of-town man in all that wreckage. Least, not if they haven't yet."

Jeff shook the man's hand with a look of fierce determination; Jensen followed the line of the crease on the man's pants. They were beige, with a brown stripe down either side. Jensen wondered how he could stand to wear anything that hot. The sun hadn't stopped its relentless beat since before... Since Before. Seemed a little absurd to stand on such formality anymore and Jensen stifled a laugh at the thought as the man extended his hand and said, "Son. Good to see you. Take care of yourself and don't work too hard. You get a chance, there's plenty of folks in town'd love to see you."

"Yessir."

The screen door slammed behind him and then he was gone. Jeff came up close to his side and said, "You're not going into town."

On balance, it wasn't a question, so Jensen held Jeff's gaze as he shook his head. "No."

"Got a fence in the back pasture needs mending, be back after a while," Jeff said, and all the tension of the day vanished like steam rising in the sun when he smiled. Jensen knew that Jeff was pleased. Had never been worried in the first place, maybe, but now, as he smiled, Jensen could see that all Jeff wanted was for Jensen not to worry.

Jeff'd never come out and say that Jensen was foolish in his distrust, but then, Jensen was never foolish enough to push the issue.

"All right," Jensen said, and he watched as Jeff went out the back door.

 

His own bones turned bird-frail under the weight of a proprietary hand. Jensen felt cornered by it and he twitched before he could stop himself. Jeff seemed to expect that though, and he eased up a fraction, looked him in the eye and gradually Jensen felt himself calm. He leaned closer, let the hand rest where it was on his shoulder. Let it wander down to map his ribs, his spine.

"You gonna leave me, Jen?"

It was a whisper against his skin and it made Jensen shiver. He didn't know which he welcomed more, the shiver or the quiet, unsure tone in Jeff's voice as he said it.

"You want me to go?"

"No." Jeff's hands were warm, and they stole away the coldness on Jensen's skin, leaving him the same temperature as the room. "No, I don't, but sometimes I wonder if you should."

"Go?"

"Or want to," Jeff said, stepping back and looking Jensen right in the eye. "It's over now. The sheriff won't be looking any further than the front door, and I know this place weighs heavy on you."

Typical of Jeff to think that they were safe now, but it wasn't over, Jensen thought, only starting. They'd picked this place with an eye for the town, but Jensen had never shared Jeff's blind faith in their distrust of outsiders. Even if they did know, somehow, that they were better off with Jeff around, it still didn't make this place safe. The choice not to remain invisible was still unnatural to him, and Jensen couldn't help but feel caught out, exposed and reliant on the goodwill of superstitious folk.

But he'd made the choice for Jeff, and he couldn't regret it. Through the tumble of beige creases and invisible chessmen inside Jensen's head there came a blackness, cutting across it all, and behind the blackness was Before. Jensen shut his eyes, leaned up to brush his lips against Jeff's and wished for Jeff's hands to move again. He wanted to feel that shiver go through him.

"Things are bad, Jeff. Worse other places." He wasn't saying it right, but there was too much to say and not enough words, so instead of trying, Jensen just felt. On days like these, when Jeff handled him like he'd break instead of circling him like a beast to be tamed, Jensen didn't feel dangerous. He didn't feel like he had to run, and he forgot about all the reasons he shouldn't stay. On days like these he could almost let go of what was chaining him.

Jeff laid him out on the bed and pressed kisses into his chest. Jensen worked at the button of his jeans, shoving them down and off while Jeff growled into his neck, hands everywhere at once: on his chest, his arms, his cock, which was stiff already. Jensen sat up to get Jeff out of his clothes, but Jeff stilled him, saying, "I got it. Lay back."

Jensen did. He was hotter than the room, hotter than the sun that never stopped pouring in through the cracks in the curtains, with Jeff's cock nudging at his hip and Jeff's breath on his face, willing the temperature to rise, feeling himself flush all over. Jeff was whispering again, and the words made Jensen sweat. Fierce words that meant more than their syllables and Jensen struggled through the heat rising off him to return the words; he tried to remember that Jeff liked to hear them, too.

In the metallic tang of Jeff's skin Jensen remembered the first time he knew what Jeff liked. It hadn't been the first _time_, no, but in a way it had been new, because he'd said things and done things that he hadn't said or done before, and Jeff had made that noise—the one he was making now—and Jensen had known that he'd done right. Jensen licked another stripe along Jeff's collarbone and felt Jeff stutter in his rhythm, growling approval before rolling him over onto his stomach. Jensen buried his head in the pillows, brought his knees up under him, did everything he could to make it faster, easier, no arguments, only touching. Only words and breath and skin and heat. All there ever was.

 

This house was a masterpiece of adaptation. Jensen crossed his arms behind his head and contemplated lemons and olives. Jersey cows who still gave milk; who still chewed cud made from green, green grass that still grew all around this place, edging the fences and running up along clapboard and shingle like it knew where the shade came from. Wild turkeys who strutted through fields, undaunted by any predator but Jeff. Jensen contemplated all this, the hard and true labor of Jeff's two hands, and he knew that it needed protecting. He knew that with time uncountable and men gone scared, he couldn't leave Jeff. He'd done right, and what's more, he'd do it again, hands down; no questions asked.

This house wasn't the only oasis left in the desert, but it was a damn sight better than what a lot of other folks had.

Picking this place hadn't been a whim, and Jensen had been grateful for the time they'd had to prepare. They'd had so much time, in fact, that Jensen used to wonder if maybe they'd stopped it. If someone else was on their side.

But that had turned out to be only a wish. When the weather had started going out of whack and the world had proven that they were alone after all, Jensen still used to take trips into town. He'd take produce and grain up in the truck to sell to Jeff's neighbors, and in exchange he'd bring home conveniences like loaves of bread and boxes of nails and Mrs. Johnson's homemade fruit pies. Really, they hadn't needed anything much from outside the farm for a long time, but Jeff called it the neighborly thing to do—strategic, Jensen would have said—to pretend subsistence and interdependence with the town. So Jensen would drive in with a load of surplus and stop at the diner, swap stories at the post office before loading up a few odds and ends and going back home.

Now that things were worse, and everyone saw his friendliness for the fiction it always had been, Jensen didn't go into town anymore. There was only an uneasy truce now, between a town that protected its own interests, and this house that was starting to be a little too interesting.

The one thing Jensen knew they needed that Jeff couldn't make was the one thing he didn't want anyone in town knowing he had. Jeff didn't like it, but he didn't argue either, just converted the truck from gasoline to biodiesel and let Jensen drive the hundred or so miles to the city, where Jensen would pick up ammunition by the truckload.

It was funny, Jensen thought, that he always considered them to be _Jeff's_ neighbors, never his own.

The fur on Jeff's chest was matted with sweat, peppered with grey, and Jensen ran his hand through it. Lightly so as not wake him, but steadily enough to feel Jeff's heart beating its staccato drumroll like it always did, a steady measure of time, Jensen thought, even when it was racing. He let the stubble of Jeff's chin catch on the pads of his thumb and index finger as he traced out the lines that, when Jeff was awake, indicated happiness or displeasure. In sleep they were barely there at all, but they still haunted Jeff's face like ghosts and Jensen wondered how many more heartbeats would pass before they were permanently etched there.

_What is the secret,_ the man had said, and Jensen had killed him for it.

Jeff shifted onto his side, away from Jensen's exploratory fingers and Jensen let him. He stared at the ceiling for another little while before deciding that it was close enough to time to get up that he might as well. Cows needed milking, earth needed plowing and the coffee wouldn't make itself. At least, that's what Jeff would say if he were awake, so Jensen got dressed and headed out into the sunlight for his chores.

_What is the secret_. In the end, the man had been reduced to begging. Jeff hadn't liked that.

Jensen pitched hay and let the cows out to pasture after their milking; he gathered up eggs and slopped the pigs and Jeff still wasn't up. That was okay, though, the man needed his rest and it would be fair to say that he'd earned it. A hot, dry wind came through as he worked, and Jensen thought: _Sirocco_. It was a word from Before, the time before the blackness or even the sun changing on its wheel. He knew the word like he knew how to reassemble an M-16 in under twenty seconds flat, and he knew that it wasn't the name of a wind he was remembering, so he let the word drop, a meaningless sign like so many others. Jensen let himself shed the knowledge like he shed his clothes as he drew a cool bath and stepped in.

_What is the secret. Please_. There hadn't been much of a mess, but Jensen took care of it by himself, wouldn't let Jeff even watch. Jeff wasn't the kind of man to stomach it, Jensen knew, so he made the pit in the floor of the unused stables and lay the man to rest there.

He dried off and ground coffee and fried eggs and Jeff was still asleep. Jensen went back into the bedroom to watch his chest rise and fall, just to be sure. He stood over Jeff, casting a long shadow, and thought that this was what it would be like to be alone. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he didn't like the feeling much. Jeff's chest rose and fell. Jensen went over to the mirror that hung over the dresser to inspect his own face.

Two eyes, a nose. He opened his mouth wide to look at his teeth. They were all still there, still mostly straight although one toward the back on the left was giving him trouble. He might have to go into the city for that if Jeff couldn't fix it. He leaned in closer to see if he had any lines of his own. If lines were a badge of a life well lived, then he was sorely lacking. Nothing in his face told of anything he'd already done; nothing there foretold anything that might come. Just a blank canvas, he thought, just cold eyes staring back at him. It might have been time for a haircut.

"Jen?" It was a whisper from behind him. Jensen sighed with relief and in the mirror his face didn't look quite so dead anymore. Sunlight bounced back from the corners of his eyes, chasing out the shadows.

"Yeah. Get up or you'll sleep half the day away."

 

They sat across the table from each other, Jensen watching Jeff cut up an egg with his fork, taking an occasional sip of coffee from the second pot of the day, but mostly just watching.

"You still thinking on going?" Jeff said through a mouthful of potatoes. Jensen dropped his eyes to the table, where a vein of shimmer ran through a field of formica.

"If you want me to."

"Thought I made it clear yesterday I want no such thing." Jeff wiped his mouth and took a long swig of coffee before he said, "But you been acting cagey since before the sheriff showed up. If you're feeling restless, I got no cause to stop you from leaving."

_What is the secret. Please. You owe it to your country._ The man—no, the target—was on his knees. Sharp as a knife and just as quick, Jensen put him down clean.

Jensen took a sip of his coffee, now almost cold, and slid back in his chair. "They won't stop coming, you know."

"Reckon I do," Jeff said, "You think that's a good reason to stay? You think I need some kind of a guard dog?"

Jensen shrugged. "It's what I'm good at."

"You're good at more than that. It was a gamble, what you and I took, and when there was no one to listen. I figure that makes us about even in this."

Jeff could figure it anyway that he wanted, but it still didn't make it so. Jensen had blood on his hands, and not just from After. Jeff gave life in the shadows he made, but Jensen was a guilty man. And he was alone in that guilt, no two ways about it. Taking orders and issuing commands didn't camouflage the facts.

The facts were that when he couldn't stop what was coming, he'd taken the secret and he'd run. He'd broken protocol and he'd broken laws and now anything that lay beyond the monster of a bougainvillea bush in the front yard was dangerous. Strangers would come, strangers came every day, and so the only question was whether or not they were coming for Jensen. If that law man was an anomaly, or the first of a wave.

If they knew where he was they'd be coming to take away the secret Jensen had taken from them. They'd lay this house and everyone inside under siege. Jeff did need a guard dog.

"If I stay, you could die," Jensen said, in a tone as small as a mouse. Jeff had finished his breakfast and he had his back to the table as he washed the dishes in the sink.

"If you leave I could die. Hell, we're all gonna die, and most of us sooner rather than later, so the way I figure it, all this—" Jeff waved a soapy hand at the back door's screen—"Is only a stopgap between comfort and death."

Jeff wiped his hands on a towel and turned around to face Jensen. His stare felt gravid with more than he would ever put into words, and Jensen was reminded of what he looked like the first time they met. Cool and sleek and strong, in a dark suit and well-shaved, Jeff had been sitting at a desk in front of two windows that met in the corner, pouring light out over a charcoal-dark city. He remembered thinking that it had been odd to find, after all the trouble he'd taken, that the secret lay in a man.

Jensen had still had the habit of standing at attention then, and even though Jeff hadn't technically been a superior, there was something in the dark suit and the commanding stare that had made him stand ramrod straight, the creases of his uniform forming parallel lines all the way to the floor. That first time, Jeff had already known what Jensen had come to say, and what's more, he'd already known what Jensen hadn't guessed yet. Jeff had always been a step ahead of him.

Jeff went on when Jensen didn't speak, "We can't measure life the same way as we could before, anymore than we can measure time. The rules don't work because this is a different game, Jen, and I want you to stay."

 

The thing about land, Jensen thought, was that it grew things. By its nature it wanted to support life. But in order to do that, it had to stay in one place. If Jensen wanted to thrive, he had to stand still, let Jeff's shade wash over him.

But the thing about standing still was that it made him a target. Rule number one had always been: move faster than the wind and be just as invisible. The rules had been important because the difference between obedience and disobedience was the difference between taking another breath and oblivion.

Jeff's mouth on his cock was hot. Jensen took a breath, let his legs fall further apart. The too-rough scratch of Jeff's beard on his thighs made him shiver and he shut his eyes, slid a hand into Jeff's hair, moaning the words of encouragement that always made Jeff suck harder, take him in deeper. Jensen had been a shadow long before this started, and the only thing he'd found to combat the darkness had been Jeff. Jeff's hands on his body brought peace, light, life. Jensen found a reason to fight the darkness every time Jeff touched him.

Yes, he'd stay. He'd defend this land that let him thrive and this man who let him breathe but wouldn't let him go. This house was Jensen's country, and he had his duty.

Jeff sat up on his knees and issued a command. Jensen obeyed, head on his arms and knees spread wide.

From beyond the curtains shut tight against the ever-present sun, Jensen could just make out the sound of tires on gravel.

The End

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End file.
